


A Fool Off His Guard

by TriplePirouette



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluffy, Slight Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriplePirouette/pseuds/TriplePirouette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumpelstiltskin takes Belle to Agrabah. Angsty, sorta sexy, kinda sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fool Off His Guard

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I opened my ask box to prompts for getting over 25 followers on Tumblr. The prompt is Rumpelstilskin takes Belle to Agrabah prompted by glitter-and-curls. I don't have the time (or energy, or desire, really- let's face it, I'm a lazy writer sometimes) to figure out if this is even “possible” in the FTL storyline/time line. Here's hoping we get some kind of FTL history in the DVD release. AU- standalone
> 
> AN2- I thought this was going to be hard to write. Damn. 
> 
> AN3- This story gave me fits. It took on a life of it's own more than once. It's not nearly as polished as I'd like, but I had to just get it out there. Any more fiddling with it and it might have turned into something else entirely.

“Oh, that just won't do...” Rumpel says to her as she carries his tea into the hall one morning. Belle stops short and looks at her tray, her dress, even at the space around her, but she sees nothing wrong. She presses forward, placing the tray down as he stares at her, her skin tingling at the blatant way his eyes rake over her body. She's used to his odd behavior, but this seems different than his normal oddness.

 

She pours the tea and hands him his chipped cup. “You're going to have to be more specific than that.” She keeps her chin up and waits for him to continue, as she knows he will.

 

It's unnerving, the way he looks at her with his cup to his lips, elbow resting on his other arm crossed over his chest. He considers her very carefully. “You're attire, dearie.”

 

She looks down, twists this way and that, even does a little spin. Her blue dress is as clean and proper as ever. No dirt, no tares, at least not that she can see. “Same as I always wear, I'm afraid.”

 

He smiles at her, his yellowed teeth making the smile something between enchanting and grotesque. “Exactly. I'm planning a little trip. You'll need something a little more... exotic.”

 

Her eyes light up. “A trip?”

 

He puts the cup on the table and steps close to her. He lifts her arms out to her sides, waits until she holds them there, then walks around her. “Agrabah.” He giggles. “I have an errand to run. You've expressed a desire to see the world. I could always use a valet.”

 

“You're truly going to let me come?” She looks over her shoulder at him, interrupting him as he stares at the shape of her shoulders and the line of her back.

 

He looks at her by peaking over her shoulder. “Well, I could tell you I was going to take you, then leave you at home, but that wouldn't be a very good deal, would it?”

 

She smiles. “I suppose not.”

 

He steps in front of her, gesturing flailing hands toward her form. “Permit me to conjure you something appropriate?”

 

She shrugs. “Alright.”

 

He flicks his hands and she feels a great draft. At first she assumes it's the magic, but then gooseflesh starts to take over nearly her whole body. She looks down and makes a very unladylike squeal, trying to cover her body with her arms. He's put her in gorgeous blue silks, but there is not nearly enough of them to be descent. The top was barely the size of half a corset, covering her breasts and barely the top of her stomach. The fact that it was a soft silk and beautifully embroidered with gold made no difference to her. Her stomach, pale belly button and all, was available for all the world to see. The bottoms began just below the swell of her hips, a short coined skirt of the same design and materiel of the top, extended by thin see through and wide legged pants that cinched in at the ankles. Soft satin slippers covered her feet.

 

He watches as Belle's blush covers her from head to toe before she turns her back to him. “This is...! I can't!”

 

His lip curls up, his voice flat and low. “You don't like it?”

 

She huffs loudly. “Whether I like it or not is immaterial. It's simply indecent and scandalous for a lady to be seen in such little clothing!”

 

He giggles and it only sets the frown deeper into her face. “It is the height of fashion in Agrabah. Did your father never host dignitaries from the east?”

 

Belle shakes her head. “I'm practically naked!”

 

Rumpelstiltskin sighs, “You, my dear, are not naked.” He steps to her, and though she twists from him, he takes her arms and forces them to her sides so she can't cover the exposed flesh of her stomach. “All the...important bits... are covered. He looks down into her eyes and for once his voice in sincere. “It can't have escaped your eye that you are an incredibly beautiful woman.”

 

She blushes at the compliment, but won't look away. “Beauty is only skin deep,” she says, “ I've wanted to be remembered for more than that.” She waits a beat. “And I'm cold.”

 

He snaps, a shawl of thick silk appears over her shoulders. “It's nearly three times as warm where we're going. The less you're wearing the more comfortable you'll be.” She wraps the shall tightly around herself, the tension leaving her shoulders at being slightly more covered. “I promise that you'll be perfectly descent where we're going. Will you come?” He holds out his hand.

 

Belle stares at him. She waits, but there is no quip, no punchline, just an open, honest face staring at her. She takes his hand and dips a curtsey. “Yes.”

 

He gestures over her body with two hands, the thin costume dissolving away to her usual blue dress. “You'll find that at your room, along with a trunk for packing.”

 

She runs her hands over her dress, thankful for the warm weight of it once again. “What should I pack for? A few days? A week?”

 

He turns, grabbing his tea cup and laughing heartily. “I expect a month will do.”

 

* * *

The trip is short when magic is employed. One day instead of one month, a horseless carriage instead of a caravan of camels, and they're in the heart of the bustling city. “No magic carpet?” she asks, slightly disappointed that their journey is already over.

 

A laugh escapes his lips like a squawk. “Do you know how many people fall off of flying carpets each year, dearie? No seats or reigns to hold on to, just tassels that are far too slick to grip.” His finger taps her on the nose lightly. “Plus they bite.” With a snap of his fingers the carriage whisks itself away to the amazement of the people around them. They're given wide berth as he leads her through the square to a small building he says is theirs for the time being.

 

Once she sees the women clad in as little or less than the clothes that Rumpelstiltskin created for her Belle has no qualms about going out in the sun in her blue costume. She skips and saunters and spends hours every day out in the market while he's making deals. Each night she returns to the small home he's rented for them, resuming the caretaker duties she's used to while rambling on about the things she's seem, the places she's been, the stories she's heard. She folds yards and yards of beautiful silken cloth to take back with them to make new dresses. She saunters about in new outfits that she buys herself with the purse of golden coins he's given her. She dresses resplendently in deep purple, bright red, burning orange; all wide legged pants and very little up top.

 

Rumpelstiltskin finds the leather gets hotter and more restrictive by the day.

 

* * *

A week before they are to leave he finds her humming about the small home, staring appreciatively at her now marked arm.

 

“What is that?” he asks, grabbing her wrist gently and looking at the dark brown swirls of color.

 

She smiles. “Isn't it lovely? The woman in the market who did it called it Henna. Said it will fade on it's own. She dripped this enchanted cream on my arm, and a moment later, this appeared.”

 

He stares in her eyes, recognizing the pattern and the magic that created it after closer inspection. “You're lucky you weren't swindled. What if this had been permanent?”

 

She knows he wants her to feel ashamed, but she isn't. She juts her chin high and shrugs. “I still think it's lovely.”

 

He narrows his eyes at her, but has no patience to argue. His finger traces the swirling pattern on her arm. “Do you know what it says?”

 

She pulls her arm away from him, twisting it this way and that, but cannot make out letters or words in the pattern. “I don't see any words.”

 

He chuckles. “The enchantment she's used marks you in the letters of the old magic. It looks into your soul and writes the truth of you on your skin. Not many can read it, and for that you should be thankful.”

 

Her eyes widen in horror. “What does it say?”

 

His face softens, the affectation dropping for just a moment. “A monster's salvation.” He turns on his heel and walks away. She stares at her arm.

* * *

He jumps back when she meets him at the door the next night, holding the box in his hands carefully. “Not too close, dearie.”

 

She purses her lips and steps back, allowing him to walk into the house and watching as he carefully sets the ornate box on the table. “Where have you been? You left last night and...”

 

“Settling my last deal!” He flourishes his hand over the box, while beaming triumphantly. The giddiness disappears quickly as he crooks his finger at her to come closer. His eyes grow dark as he speaks, danger creeping in to his voice. “I will show you what is in this box, only because you must know never to tamper with it. Do you understand? Do not touch the box, do not open it, do not even think about it.” Belle nods solemnly. He presses a hand to her, pushing her nearly a foot away from the table. He carefully turns the key and opens the lid.

 

Belle jumps back when the snake pops out, hissing and snapping sharp teeth at them. She grabs on to the arm Rumpel has kept in front of her; put off by the tiny, dangerous creature. “What is that?”

 

He never lets his eyes leave the snake and keeps one hand raised toward it, his fingers sizzling with magic and ready for any sudden movement. “The Agraban Viper. One bite, and you will be dead within seconds. There is no antidote, there is no salvation. It is the most deadly snake in all the kingdoms.”

 

Her voice trembles. “Why have you brought it here?”

 

“There is a buyer.” He presses her behind him, then slowly and with both hands, he closes the lid and locks the box tightly. Though the animal is locked up, he does not turn his back on the box. “You must never touch this box. You must never open it. It will be with us on the trip back, and in the castle for several days. Do you understand?”

 

He can feel her hands still trembling on his arm. “Yes.”

 

“Good.” He smiles and turns, taking her hands in his. “We will leave in six days time.”

* * *

She cannot be in the house with that deadly creature any longer, and spends the entire next day in the blue outfit he gave her back before this adventure began strolling through the marketplace. She makes her final purchases: a few more yards of silk, some sweet dates for the trip home (if they last that long, she's come to love the exotic fruit), a hand full of crystals for embellishing the dresses she has planned, and strolls back the the small house hoping that he will be there waiting and she will not have to be alone with the box.

 

He is there, sitting by the window when she comes in. He laughs harshly at her.

 

Her nose wrinkles as she puts her basket of purchases down by the table. “What?”

 

He drums his fingers together, not trying to hide the grin on his face. “Oh, dearie, you'll feel it soon enough.”

 

Her eyes widen. “Is there something on me? A scorpion? A snake?” She turns and starts wiping off her skin, only to feel the sting as flesh meets flesh. She stops and looks at herself, seeing the bright red color that every exposed inch has taken on. Her eyebrows knit together and she frowns. “Oh dear.”

 

He twitters and steps closer. “Forget your shawl, dearie? A hat perhaps? Umbrella?”

 

She left them home on purpose, wishing to soak up enough exotic sun to last her a good long while in the drafty castle, but she'll never tell him that. She never expected that after a month with her skin taking on a deepening glow that she would find herself burned so badly. He waggles his finger around in a circle and she spins for him, knowing that perhaps her back may be worse than the angry red on her chest when she hears the odd noise he makes in the back of his throat. She faces him again, holding her arms slightly out to her sides. “That bad?”

 

He curls his top lip. “Well, it's not good.” He drums his fingers together and lops past her to the door in long, bright strides.

 

“Where are you going?” She demands, still standing in the middle of the room, nearly as afraid of the feeling of putting her forearms against her stomach as she is of being alone with the box.

 

“Out.” He shakes his head, stepping through the door and pointing to the empty pot by the stove. “Dinner, dearie. I won't be long.” He's gone before the door even shuts properly.

 

While he's gone she keeps the box in her peripheral vision at all times, but takes advantage of the time alone to pull back the edges on her clothes and see just how badly she is burned. It's bad: she's only seen burns this bad when servants got too close to the fire, or the one time when the hearth exploded because the chimney was blocked. There will be permanent demarcations on her skin without a doubt, and she thinks it will take days, if not weeks, for the sting of damaged flesh to completely fade. Even her legs, partially shielded by the tulle of her pants, didn't escape the sun: the backs of her knees are badly burned, though not as bad as her shoulders and back. The skin on her shoulders is blistering and cracking, the pain already seeping into her bones. It will, at the very least, make travel back to the Dark Castle uncomfortable.

 

She sighs. She can't change out of this outfit now, the others are all cut differently and will cut into the burned skin on her body. Slowly she uses a soft square of cloth to drip cool water on her skin. It burns and she hisses, but it's all she can do for it at the moment. She eyes the silks she's bought, knowing that she'll need to cover herself eventually and they'll at least make soft bandages. She turns to the small hearth and cabinet, pulling out the ingredients for a simple dinner and loses herself in the cutting and cleaning of exotic vegetables, trying not to think of the dresses she's planned that will be rags before they're even made.

 

True to his word, Rumpelstiltskin returns only a few minutes later, waggling his fingers at her before he disappears into the back room that's been designated as his. Her heart slows a bit. Though he's magicked the box closed on top of the lock, she's found that his magic always works just a bit better when he's around. She can almost, almost pretend that there isn't a deadly snake only a few feet from her.

 

She's about to toss all the ingredients into the pot over the small fire when he comes back in, a bowl in hand. He points at a stool at the end of the table. “Sit.”

 

She empties the handfuls of vegetables into the pot then steps over, sitting. She jumps up when she feels the wood hit the burns on the backs of her thighs, but settles back down gently. “What are you-”

 

He presses a finger to her lips. “This one requires a bit of an enchantment. Best to stay silent, dearie.” He reaches for her hand, but she pulls it back quickly.

 

Belle looks at him through narrowed eyes. She's come to expect him to be secretive, but this is just a bit too far. “Not until you tell me what you're doing.”

 

His eyebrows dance on his forehead. He pretends to be offended that she wouldn't trust him, displaying the bowl prominently. “Medicine. Simple, everyday salve you can get from a healer. A little help from some simple enchantments and you should be right as rain by morning.”

 

She wrinkles her nose and pulls back just a bit further, skeptical. “It smells like the stables.”

 

He blurts out a high pitched laugh then curls his lip at her. “Didn't say it would be pleasant.”

 

“Will it hurt?” Belle asks, knowing that she'd be willing to do anything to take away the ache of pins and needles all over her skin.

 

Rumpelstiltskin leans in, nose to nose with the willful princess. “Only your sense of smell until you can wash it off in the morning.”

 

She holds her hand out and he takes her wrist gently. His lips move, but only a whisper of words that don't seem like words come out. He dips his fingers in the cream then runs them over her skin, gently spreading it over the burnt flesh. She winces: it stings, and it stinks, but she tries not to pull back. His lips move continuously as he works up her arm. His fingers push over her shoulder then stop when he reaches her chest. He presses his lips together tightly. “I could let you do this yourself, you know, but it's really the enchantment that's doing most of the work healing you. Permit me to continue?”

 

She knows what he's asking: her arm is one thing, but the expanse of her cleavage, the length of her stomach, the tops of her thighs- these are places that she was taught shouldn't even be seen by any other man than her husband, and even then she would be lucky if he'd caress her with the gentle touch that Rumpelstiltskin was using now. But she doesn't care. She feels no fear, and wants to be rid of the pain. Belle tips her head back, exposing her mostly white throat. The whispering resumes, and his fingers drift over her skin. They don't linger, but they caress. She can't tell if it's the salve or if his fingers simply are that soft, if it's the lubrication or if his touch is that gentle. There is no scraping from his thick nails, no grasping or grabbing, but gentle constant pressure as he runs his fingers over her flesh.

 

He steps around her, slowly moving down her other arm and then across her back. He stops when he reaches her shoulder again. “Stand up.” He commands quietly, stepping back from her. She does and his hand resumes its trek across her lower back, the salve cool. His fingers ghost over her sides and she shatters the silence with a gasp and giggle. He twitters high and delighted. “Oh, ticklish, are we?”

 

She clamps her lips together, straightening. She's just let lose a possibly destructive secret. “I uh- no, I-”

 

His fingers brush again and she doubles over and away from his hand, cringing when the untreated skin of her stomach pulls taught. “You are.” She can't see his smile but knows by his tone of voice that it is delightfully devious. “I'll save that tidbit of information.”

 

She rolls her eyes. When he resumes his touch it is stronger, less likely to make her bend in hysterics. There is care, but nothing beyond that. His lips continue to whisper chains of repeating words she doesn't understand, his fingers dipping into the bowl then spreading the cool concoction thick over her skin. When he finishes her stomach (including a dollop in her poor burnt belly button) he stands calmly in front of her. “Anywhere else?”

 

Belle points at the see through fabric of her pants. Her lips cringe into a hopeful, but awkward smile. “My legs.”

 

He nods and kneels before her. It takes her by surprise. She didn't think about how he'd gain access to her legs, but to see the most powerful man in all the kingdoms on his knees before her... her stomach flips over and her heart beats faster. He regards her pants for a moment, then snaps his fingers and the fabric below the short coined skirt falls to threads at her feet. “Oh!” Belle cries out, distraught at how he's not only exposed her, but decimated her perfectly lovely pants. “They're ruined.”

 

He snorts through his nose, shaking his head. “I conjured them, dearie, I can fix them.” He grasps her right leg about the ankle and then slips off her shoe, giggling mirthfully at the pattern. Her leg is mostly a hot pink, not the angry red of the rest of her body; not nearly as bad, but still uncomfortable. Around her ankle and where her satin slipper covered the skin is as pale and white as the first day he saw her, but there is a ring of ridiculous red on the top of her foot where the skin went exposed.

 

He resists the urge, though just barely, to tickle her foot.

 

He finishes both legs quickly, then swirls his hand back in the air, the threads re-lacing themselves back into pants. She smiles as he stands.

 

He crooks a finger at her with a smirking smile to his lips. When she steps to him he tilts her chin up and resumes his ministrations, this time using only one finger and gently painting the salve over the skin of her face. Her eyes are closed, but she can feel his breath on her skin as he speaks softly. “Do not wash it off until after noon tomorrow. You also shouldn't behead a rooster until then for this to work, but I highly doubt you had that in your plans for tonight.”

 

She laughs. It's easy to relax with the pain falling to a gentle numbing. He's so close she can feel the warmth from his skin. “Thank you.”

 

He rolls his eyes and steps away. “Can't have you unable to work, now can I?” He puts the bowl down and goes over to the basin, washing his hands. “Now go rest. You stink, can't have you doing the cooking smelling like that.”

 

She never can tell if it's crudeness or concern in his voice when he gets flip like this, but she always hopes for the second.

* * *

She's nearly asleep in the small nest of pillows and blankets that she's turned into her bed when he slips into her tiny room. Her skin has stopped stinging and the numbness is blissful. “Belle?” he calls out softly, pressing the thick drapery aside that acts as a door. She mumbles, but says no words. “Dinner, if you like?”

 

Her head lolls to the side, her eyes narrow slits as she looks up at him. “I'm so sleepy.”

 

He crouches, setting the soup on the ground. “The magic uses a lot of your energy to heal.” He takes her hand and examines the skin. “Better already, I think.”

 

“Not painful anymore,” she whispers.

 

He reaches for her other arm and traces a finger up where the dark brown ink is slowly fading. “Your mark is disappearing.”

 

“I can always get another,” she says, watching his fingers closely. She drops a heavy hand on his, trapping it against her arm. She catches his gaze and holds it, making sure he can see how sincere she is. “Thank you.”

 

He nods uncomfortably and stands, clasping his hands behind his back. “You should eat. It will help.” He turns and leaves her, but she can't keep her eyes open.

* * *

Her piercing scream startles him awake. With a snap he's dressed and darting through the curtains between their rooms. He freezes in her doorway, and hand up ready to release magic from his fingertips.

 

She's stock sill in her bed, her chin trembling, her eyes wide and frightened.

 

“What's wrong?” He asks quietly, slowly moving toward her.

 

Her eyes are watering, terrified. Sweat drips from her skin and with it the magic liniment he applied, leaving angry streaks of burnt skin in the wake of the rivulets as she shakes. “Th- the- there's a s-s-s-s-snake around my leg.” Her voice hitches with fear. He knows what she is afraid of: he's seen the wide berth she gives the box and how she can barely stand to be in the same room with it. He can feel the magic, though, and knows that the box is still locked, still surrounded with charms, and still contains its dangerous cargo.

 

“The viper is still in his box, dearie,” he whispers, trying to calm her at least somewhat. He doesn't say that it's entirely possible that there is another viper under her blanket. That would be far too counter productive.

 

Belle takes a deep breath, angry streaks lining her throat and down over the swell of her panting chest. “Well,” she tries to compose herself, her voice still shaking, “be that as it may, I'd still very much like assistance getting this one _away_ from me, if you'd be so kind.”

 

The laugh at her phrasing dies in his throat when her eyes widen with betrayal at his mirth. He nods, pursing his lips together. “Of course, dearie. Just a little snake.” He approaches slowly and quietly. “Where is it?”

 

“On my leg,” she whispers, frustrated that she'd have to tell him again.

 

He shakes his head and twist a smirk at her. “No, dearie, which direction is it moving... where is it's head?” He points his finger to the thin blanket where he traces in the air the shape of the creature slithering over her skin.

 

Belle takes a shaky breath. “By my knee.”

 

He holds up a finger to her. “Stay still, do not yell, and if he bites, which I hope to avoid, do not move.”

 

He slips his hands onto the blanket by her foot, slowly moving upward gently until his hands surround the lump he thinks to be the head. Like a flash his fingers grip the creature, but not before she stiffens with searing pain. Her eyes shut tight against the fire on her skin, but she can feel the snake and blanket being dragged away, can hear the crack as he somehow bests the creature. She feels the fabric of her pants dissolve again and his warm hand covers the burning skin.

 

His hand takes hers and pulls. “Sit up, Belle,” he commands. She arches her back and twists away. The pain shoots up her leg and she wishes only to crawl away from it. His hand leaves her leg and suddenly he's tugging her up from beneath her arms, resting her back against the cool stone wall at the head of her bed. “You must sit, get your heart above the wound.”

 

She cries out when he touches her leg again. The skin is an angry red, a tiny scratch shiny with droplets of venom that slowly seep and burn into the broken flesh. His fingers circle the area, pressing. Suddenly his mouth is on her, his hands pressing as his tongue laps and his lips suck. He pulls away and spits violently on the floor before attacking her leg again. Pain shoots through her nerves and she squirms, but he holds her leg steady as he sucks and pulls the venom out. He spits again, and then returns to her leg, this time laving with his tongue, little tiny circles that somehow send the circulation back to her skin. The rush of good blood is nearly as painful as the venom.

 

Rumpel stands, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “How does it feel?” Belle winces and twists, shrugging. He crawls over her, his form looming, just his shadow bearing weight. He straddles her hips and turns her face to look at him. He pries her eyes open, staring deep into them, pulls at her jaw until he can see the bright pink of her tongue, leans his head down to her bosom and stays, listening for her pounding heartbeat. One hand slowly runs up and down her side. “Try to calm, dearie, I can't tell if you're in danger from the poison or if you're still panicked. I believe I got it all. Breathe for me,” he whispers against her chest, unmoving until he's satisfied that the pounding beneath her ribs is from fear and not illness. 

 

Belle swallows harshly. Her skin burns everywhere, the sweat from her fear having washed away the salve in tiny, stinging rivers. Her heart is still beating far too fast and she can barely look up at him. “What... what happened?”

 

“It was a kind of Viper. Not the most deadly, but dangerous none the less. I was able to stop him before he bit you, but he did scratch you, he did release some venom. I was able to suck it out before it went too deep. You may have some discomfort, a wee limp for a day or two, but you should be fine.” He's still hovering over her, his knees on either side of her hips, looking down at her like she's something precious.

 

Her chin wobbles again. “I could have died?”

 

He is reluctant to admit it, but does. “Yes.”

 

Her smile is small, but much more the Belle he knows. “You saved me...” Her hand reaches up, landing gently on his cheek. He can feel it trembling still. The moment is getting far too serious for his liking, far more than just her appreciation or his showing off. He's feeling a tug deep in his chest, an emotion he hasn't felt in lifetimes.

 

He deftly jumps away from her and scoops her up into his arms. “Come, my dear, You wreak of fear and failed magic.” Belle cringes at the feeling of her burnt flesh being touched, but has little more than enough energy to wrap her arms around his neck. He carries her through the door to the hearth where a gleaming copper tub has appeared. He carefully sets her into the water, cooler than she expected. She shivers, but does not complain as she leans against the back, some energy seeping into her bones as the water calms her skin.

 

A small decanter appears from thin air and he pours a creamy white liquid into the water. “What's that for?” she whispers, her body relaxing.

 

“Your skin. You'll smell like the stables for a few days after this instead of just for a night, but it's a small price to pay I'd think.”

 

Belle closes her eyes and rests her head against the back of the tub, the length just long enough for her to stretch out her legs. Her fingers run over the swollen scratch just above her knee. The lump is slowly fading, though the skin is still tender. “The water is quelling it enough, I don't need to smell.”

 

“Ah, but you look like a zebra or a raccoon. Stripes all up and down every inch of you, my dear. If I wanted a striped manservant, I very well would have made myself one.”

 

She's sure there's some logic to what he just said, but she's not hearing it. She sighs and tries to make a sound that as something akin to agreeable laughter, but the adrenaline rush is leaving her body and her brain can't process quickly enough. Her eyes snap open when he speaks again.

 

“Come now, off with your clothes.”

 

She stares at him. He stands, unmoving, staring right at her as if he asked her how she takes her tea or if it might rain tomorrow. He can't have said what she thinks he did. “Excuse me?”

 

His voice is low and nasal, a joke at her expense. “Who ever heard of anyone taking a bath with their clothes on? Besides, the dyes in the fabric will turn your skin blue if left in there too much longer. Now off, dearie.”

 

She musters up some energy and sits up straight, her jaw set tight. “I may have agreed to wear this, and may have allowed you to touch me before to help my skin.” She purposefully doesn't mention his lips. Or his teeth. Or, dear gods, his tongue now that she has the time to think of it. “But I will keep some of my dignity, thank you. ”

 

He laughs. She scowls and he laughs as she crosses her arms tightly over her chest. With a flick of his wrist a great silken blanket covers the tub, leaving just her head poking out at one side. “I never deigned to sacrifice your dignity, dearie.” He flutters a high note behind his nose and bows deeply, his words taking on a regal note to them. “I promise not to peek.”

 

Belle rolls her eyes, this day has turned from odd to worse in mere hours. “Blue? My skin will truly turn blue?”

 

He nods solemnly. “As a blueberry. As the sky. As...” He drums his fingers against his lips. “Well, you get the point. Not many things are blue, so you'd certainly stand out.” he snarks back at her.

 

Belle carefully maneuvers in the tub, slipping out of her coined skirt and the half top. She balls them up and drops them over the side, sliding back into the water and pulling the silken sheet closer to her chin.

 

Rumpelstiltskin huffs, turning to the hearth and grabbing a swatch of soft cotton from the mantle. “I've been alive a few centuries, dearie. Even had a son. I think it's safe for you to assume I know what the naked female form looks like.”

 

Belle smiles only because she knows he can't see it. “You don't know what I look like.” She regrets the words as soon as they come out of her mouth. The tension hangs thick, quips and comebacks remain unspoken, but thought of, in the silence.

 

He turns back and sits next to the tub, facing her. For once a genuine smile graces his face. “You're right, my apologies.” He tips his head slightly, thought overtaking him. “It's not often that I'm in the presence of a lady long enough to disrupt her sensibilities in a way that was not on purpose.”

 

Belle smiles softly at the imp, seeing just a hit of the man behind the facade. “The apology is not necessary, but it is accepted. You did, after all, save my life.”

 

His nose wrinkles and his head dances on his shoulders. “Not your life, just your leg.”

 

“And my skin,” she reminds him, for the first time lifting her arm and looking at the snaking lines of red that are already disappearing.

 

“Well, that has yet to be seen.” He reaches out, dipping the cotton into the water and tilting her chin towards him. “Close your eyes.”

 

She does, and all she can feel is the soft fabric drifting over her skin, the cool water slipping over the tingling flesh, his finger moving softly. “Why did we really come here, Rumpelstiltskin?”

 

The cloth halts for just a fraction of a second, enough to tell her that she's hit a nerve. She cannot see him, but she imagines his face is as stony as ever. “For the viper, of course.” He's stony when he's lying.

 

“I'm pretty sure that took you less than a day to procure.” He dips the cloth again and slips it over her cheek. She leans into the touch. “What's the real reason?”

 

When his hand pulls away she opens her eyes. They share a moment, a stare, a look that passes between them full of things that neither one is really ready to say.

 

He stands, pasting a ridiculous smirk on his face and breaking the moment to pieces. “Why, to get you naked in the bath, of course!” He turns and takes his time spreading the cotton swatch over the fire to dry. “Why else would a master take his house maid to Agrabah?”

 

She'll have none of it, though. She watches as he pulls a large, fluffy towel out of a basket near the fire. He opens it; beating out imaginary wrinkles gives him an excuse to keep his back turned to her.

 

“Tell me the real reason,” she whispers, lifting her arms from the water and laying them over the side of the tub, turning to sit on her hip and stare at him. “I promise I won't tell anyone.”

 

He doesn't quite look at her, but his head turns over his shoulder all the same. She sees the far away gleam in his eyes, the sadness that he holds so close to his heart, and his words are so quiet she almost thinks she's dreamed them. “You wanted to see the world. Even when you told me that, there was no regret in your voice. Your sacrifice deserves something more than a solitary life with me in a drafty castle.”

 

She rests her chin on her hands, watching as he shakes the towel out again, his attention solely on the fabric in his hands. “You said forever, and I agreed to it.”

 

He clears his throat and the smile on his face as he turns isn't nearly as put on as she expects. “And so we'll take our travels together.” He holds the towel in front of him, stepping towards her. “Come now, dearie. Much longer and you'll smell for weeks instead of days.”

 

Belle watches as he holds the towel out to her. He's expecting her to reach for it, or to wrap herself in the silken covering of her bath, or to take the towel and make him turn. She smiles, she loves surprising him. Before her courage can leave her, Belle stands, the milky water sliding down her newly healed skin, covering nothing as she stands before him.

 

To his credit, he doesn't flinch. He doesn't turn, but doesn't leer, either. He gulps, shooting his eyes straight to her face and plastering a knowing grin on his lips as he spreads the towel wide, walking to her and pressing it around her body, carefully avoiding contact. “Making it hard for me not to peek, dearie.”

 

Belle just smiles. He takes her hand as she grabs the towel tightly with the other, helping her step from the tub. She aims for grace and poise, but it's lost when dizziness overtakes her and she sways dangerously.

 

His arms are around her in a second, lifting her with a hand beneath her knees into his arms once again. Without a word he takes her to his room, setting her into his bed of soft cushions and pillows.

 

“My bed would be fine,” she whispers, her eyes still a bit unfocused.

 

“Your bed smells of the stables, and is covered in sweat and the blood of a dead viper. Care to reconsider?” He carefully arranges her limp limbs.

 

She chuckles, her voice filled with sleep. It seems her fight, her energy, has left her rather quickly. “Here is good, too.” She rubs her eyes as his fingers palpate the angry red scar over her knee. “Why am I so tired all of a sudden?”

 

His eyes hold fast on the small patch of skin, though his hands roam inches further than is strictly necessary up and down her leg. “The water made the magic more efficient. It could draw from it. Without it, it must draw from you.” He pulls the towel down over her thighs and straightens the edge before covering her with his blanket. “Rest, dearie. We'll not spend another day here, we'll return to the castle in the morning.”

 

He turns to leave, but her hand grabs his wrist before he can make it even one step. “Rum?” Her voice is tiny, far away.

 

He takes her hand in his, patting it gently. “Yes, Belle?”

 

“Where will you sleep?” Her eyes are open just enough to see him, her body just relaxed enough for the laugh lines around her eyes to soften.

 

He takes her hand and places it carefully on her stomach, tucking the blanket up tight around her. “Don't worry about that, dearie.”

 

Her fingers claim his wrist again. Her voice is frightened this time. “Will you stay?”

 

He doesn't speak, but slips gently in the bed next to her. He's stiff, but she fits her body against his and his muscles relax into her embrace of their own accord. “You saved my life, Rumpelstiltskin.”

 

His laugh is light, quiet. “I've already told you, dearie, hardly your life, just your leg.”

 

“No,” she whispers, sleep heavy in her voice and body as she curls into him. “Without you, I would have been killed in the Ogre War. If not then, I would have been married to Gaston. He would have kept me in his castle like a prize. I would have bared his children, raised them, and smiled at parties. I would never have seen this place, or the wonders of the things in your castle.”

 

He rearranges the blanket over her, giving his hands something to do and keeping her soft skin out of sight. “You're a monster's trinket, my dear. Not so wonderful, I should think.”

 

“And with Gaston I would have been a spoil of war.” She rests her head on his shoulder, tugging the thin blanket away, ruining all his careful work, so she can press tightly to him. “You've already shown me more of the world than I ever truthfully hoped to see.”

 

“Then,” he whispers, tangling his hand in her hair, holding her shoulders tightly to him, “We shall travel the world together.”

 

“Forever?” she asks, a yawn tagging on to the word.

 

His fingers run over the soft skin of her shoulder, wondering what tonight has truly done to them. “Forever.”

 

 


End file.
